


Eunoia

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Animal Death, Bully Dean, Dark fic, Dean Has Issues, Dean is just really fucked up, Dean is numb, Fights, Gen, HS AU, High School Student Dean, Mental Health Issues, Paranoid John, Sam hates Dean, Sociopath Dean, thoughts of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 11:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13500858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The strange sickness that had infected him had started at a young age. He wasn't a sociopath, but only barely. When they had talked about sociopathy in one of his science classes, he had fit the definition but it just wasn't him. He wanted things out of people. So, offhandedly, he decided to do his research. Schizoid didn't fit, and neither did any kind of personality disorder that could be classified or understood. Dean just figured that something had gone wrong in evolution and he was a little more primal than other people. And that was ok with him. Maybe not to other people, but to him? Just fine.





	Eunoia

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger Warning!** There is animal death, blood, fights, graphic depictions of violence, and mental health issues. This was based on my headspace from today, only amplified. Proceed with caution.

Dean felt quite angry with the world today. 

His stupid eyebrows were too long and scraggly. His hair looked fine but that was because he ran his hands through it enough times that it decided to get it's at act together, but only barely. 

He felt like he could have killed something, but that was a feeling that was always beneath the surface. 

He felt sick. 

He felt like anyone other than his few select friends were idiots and that they needed to either get educated or to cease to exist. But that was always at the back of his mind. 

The strange sickness that had infected him had started at a young age. He wasn't a sociopath, but only barely. When they had talked about sociopathy in one of his science classes, he had fit the definition but it just wasn't him. He wanted things out of people. So, offhandedly, he decided to do his research. Schizoid didn't fit, and neither did any kind of personality disorder that could be classified or understood. Dean just figured that something had gone wrong in evolution and he was a little more primal than other people. And that was ok with him. Maybe not to other people, but to him? Just fine. 

His sickness (as society would call it) usually just manifested in social indifference and being unable to make an friends unless some extrovert decided to adopt him. It was fine because Dean got something out of all of them. Dean felt like his needs were human, but occasionally he wanted something else. 

When he was growing up, John had been a bit paranoid about any food bought at the store, thought the government was poisoning it, so they had raised rabbits. Once a month Dean had gotten the chance to help John butcher the rabbits. It felt good. So good to just see the blood that had sprayed everywhere when John had cut the head off of the rabbit. He felt a little better on those days. 

So he had waited. Every month he got more and more antsy until that blissful day. 

And Dean enjoyed having a little brother. Sam was smart but he cared about things that Dean couldn't understand. Dean had tried to fit in once but he was never able to achieve a normal reputation. He didn't mind either. What people (well, stupid teens) thought of him didn't affect his outcomes in the long run. He would still get what he wanted.

What he wanted? He wasn't so sure of that but it was something. 

Something very important. 

So Dean had a little brother that he was very critical of. Eventually John had died from being too paranoid to get a flu shot and so the monthly day of bliss went away and so did Sam and Dean. They packed up and went to live with Bobby out in Sioux Falls. 

Dean slowly became more and more angry. When he wasn't taking it out on himself, he took it out on Sam. And so Sam started to avoid Dean. Dean didn't blame him but he didn't exactly have a way to express himself anymore. So he brought all of his anger to school with him. 

At first it started innocently enough; Dean kept calling this one kid a maggot. He didn't know his name and the kid didn't know his. These were simple days. 

Eventually, over the course of a few months, Dean started to feel something whenever he slammed the kid hard enough against the locker that it gave him a concussion or whenever he got in a fight with one of the football jocks near the the train tracks that ran next to the town. 

When he came home close to 4 in the morning, Bobby would always be sitting in his rocking chair waiting for him. Maybe he would be reading or watching the news, but he was always there, just waiting. 

“You have to stop going out so late and coming back lookin’ like a damn ragdoll, Dean,” Bobby said sounding very terse. 

Dean grunted in reply and quietly walked up the stairs and into his room. The room wasn’t decorated. Not much effort was put into making the bed or cleaning up his dirty clothes, but only because presentation didn't matter. He didn't stay in his room very often. 

Dean threw off his jeans and laid down. Sleep felt like every other part of his day: numb. So he closed his eyes and let his brain process the day.

He had held The Kid against the locker and squeezed his shoulders until they had bruised over and then he had skipped the rest of his day to go to the park. Most of the parks in the city were filled with mindless drones who seeked the unattainable “fun” but the one park, Beckham, was always empty and the only evidence that people had ever been there was the new graffiti that popped up every week or the growing number or heroine needles on the ground. Once there, Dean had just bummed a cigarette off some crack addict and had spent his day staring at the leaves that began to be coated over in frost. 

It was nearly November now. Huh. 

The cig had died easily, unlike the rabbits, and was tossed onto the ground near the other cigarette butts and needles. 

He walked back to his school and waited outside just as the release bell had wrung. The jocks, sporting their red leatherman's, had come out of the front entrances of the school en mass. He quietly walked up to the beefiest one (probably on some kind of steroid) and called him a freak. 

Oh boy, had that gotten a reaction. 

Dean had just quietly offered to fight him at Beckham at 2:30 that night. Being a narcissist, the Jock mindlessly said yes and then threatened Dean a little more. 

So Dean left as quietly as he had came in and decided to walk to the corner store that many high schoolers had frequented. He walked up to the largest group, filled with social junkies and real life junkies and had informed them that Dean was going to be fighting someone in the park at 2:30 and that they were all invited. That was the catalyst. They would text all of their friends and post it everywhere until the whole school knew. Good. 

Sam had once told Dean that Dean looked too calm in every situation that he was in and that it scared people. Dean didn't understand how but it wasn't like it mattered. 

So Dean had bought a Redbull and had sat on a picnic bench in Beckham park and waited for the fight. He waited for the sun to go down. Any other person would have called it beautiful but Dean didn't exactly care. 

Dean felt his phone buzz. It was a text from Charlie. 

_Charlie: Ur getting in a fight!!?? R U stupid????_

_Dean: yeah. U can come if youd like. Its gonna be a good one. Its with the school meat head._

_Charlie: how did u even get into this situation??_

_Dean: i asked nicely. He said yes. Kind of like a weird date._

_Charlie: im going to be there to talk you out of your stupid decision!!_

_Dean: as long as youre there. Bring guilda if you want. :)_

So Dean waited a little longer and tightened his jacket around his shoulders. He wasn't immune to the cold. 

Eventually people started milling in. Even the nerdiest people had decided to come, no matter how out of the place they were. 

Eventually Jock-Guy had arrived in a sports car with several -- to be frank -- whores hanging off of his arms. They just didn't know any better yet that Jock-Guy was an abuser type. He almost felt bad for them. 

There was a bunch of smaller guys yelling and whooping and someone had started a fire in a barbecue pit which had grown into a large bomb fire. It would eventually become uncontainable but Dean would be long gone by then. 

And so Dean didn't start with a preface. He took off his leather jacket and had cracked his neck and had entered the growing ring of people. He took a deep breath and waiting for the first punch. 

But Dean was a fun guy: Dean _liked_ to play games. 

Dean let the guy take a small hype walk around the ring with everyone cheering for him, including the nerds, while Dean stood innocently at one side of the ring. 

Eventually, when things started to happen, the Jock-Guy threw 3 punches. For every time that the punches connected with Dean’s face and torso, it just kickstarted the anger and fire that was innate to Dean and Dean only. 

The crowd cheered for him and they all assumed the worst of Dean. Eventually, Dean stood up straight and took a breathe. He waited until the Jock-Guy took his next punch when he decided to actually start fighting. 

He let the Jock’s fist go right past his face when he grabbed his forearm and kept the motion going into the crowd. They had to dodge the 250 pounds of force coming their way. Mass and acceleration and all that. Jock guy tripped over his feet and fell into an old Oak tree. He pushed himself off and stared at Dean with clear disdain. He came at Dean with double his speed. 

And so Dean matched him. He hooked his arm when he threw a punch and brought it back into an arm bar. 

Dean loved the sickening crack that it gave towards his shoulder. 

Deam dropped him to the ground and twisted his arm higher into the air. It looked deformed. By now, the blood in Deans ears was rushing so fast that he could only faintly hear the screams of the Jock-Guy. 

Whatever. The screams didn't matter to Dean anyway. He only liked the blood. 

Dean grabbed his dirty blonde hair and pounded his face into the ground, twice. When that produced no blood, he spin him around and kicked his temple with his steel toed boots. Finally, results. The blood from his head tentatively ran down his head. 

Dean heard a car's brakes screech against asphalt and the slamming of a car door. It wasn't the cops, they never came to this part of town. 

Over the euphoriating blood rushing through his ears, he could hear Charlie calling his name. 

She ran over with Guilda right behind her and tried to tear Dean off the Jock-Guy. He kicked the Jock in the ribs again but he let himself be pulled away. 

They all got into the car and started driving in some direction. It was silent for a while. 

“Dean… this is the 3rd fight this week. And it's only Thursday!” Charlie sounded strained. Gilda sat in the back seat and had sighed 5 times by this point. 

Dean had grunted in reply. 

Dean was dropped off in the driveway and had proceeded to succumb to a painful sleep. He dreamt about rabbits eating carrots and the cries of crows. 


End file.
